“Bugger. Wish I was there now.”
“Come up, then. You’re only a floor down.”
“In a one-bedroom shoe cupboard.”
“Stop complaining. You could have stayed here. There are two bedrooms. What do I need with two bedrooms?”
“You’re the talent, sweetie. Not me. And anyway, you’d only end up moaning about my constant stream of telephone calls,” she said as she grunted, clearly taking some effort to do something at her end. “Americans like to impress their stars, not the help. Hence the palatial suite. We ought to market that coffee mix, you know? And I just love the way you go about preparing everything. So effortless. Would look great on—”
“Television. Honestly, Tina, you’re as see-through as shrink-wrap.”
“Only looking out for you. You’re thirty. Ramsay wasn’t that much older when he opened his own restaurant and stepped in front of the cameras. At a time when the viewing public were hungry to see how professionals worked in the kitchen. Nowadays those types of cooking shows are ten a penny no matter where you are in the world.”
“And your point is?”
“The public wants newcomers who have something fresh and original to dazzle them with, people who go one step further. Like Heston Blumenthal. And if you don’t crank up your career now, you might miss the boat.”
“Why do you think I’m in New York?”
“You’ll still be in the kitchen.”
“I’m a chef. That’s where I’m meant to be.”
“Darling. With your good looks and charm, you need to be in front of the camera.”
Oh heavens, thought Marcus, here we go again. “My good looks and charm couldn’t even get me laid last night. Move it along, Tina.”
Right then his phone buzzed with another number.
“What’s that noise?”
“Another call coming through.”
“I’ll let you go, then. Be ready at ten thirty.”
Before Marcus had a chance to pick up the call—once again the display only provided the single word “unknown”—the caller rang off. He issued a deep irritated breath, which froze and turned to wonderment while he stared out the window at the mix of iconic new architecture and historical buildings. All too often his English associates had smiled politely at their American colleagues, who crowed on about their pint-size heritage and culture, but just standing there looking at the nouveau classic New York skyline took Marcus’s breath away. No question about it, his life was charmed. Even if he did bemoan being away from home, working extraordinarily long hours, and feeling a very occasional pang about not having someone to share his life with, everything he touched businesswise seemed to turn to gold.
Maybe he would have liked to have his family more present in his life, to share his successes with. But Colin and Debs—they had given him strict instructions as soon as he was old enough never to use “Mum and Dad” labels—were nothing short of an inspiration. Both in their fifties, they still had their careers in the theater that kept them busy, still loved each other like nobody else he knew. Fuck, their love for each other could inspire a best-selling self-help book. Not that they didn’t love him to bits too, but their passion for each other transcended everything and continued on after their sole offspring had left the nest. And if he ever needed them, he knew unshakably that they would be there for him.
And that was just how he wanted things, wasn’t it?
Before Raine passed, he had wanted more, would have seriously considered a family of his own, with the man of his dreams by his side. Not impossible, because Raine’s family had been the perfect model, a little piece of heaven, a sanctuary in an unpredictable world. And ironically, the only man who had ever come anywhere close to his ideal had been Tom Bradford, Raine’s husband and father to their two daughters.
Just then the phone rang again and Marcus quickly tapped his thumb on the screen. If this was somebody trying to sell him anything, he would give them a piece of his mind.
“May I speak to Marcus Vine?” came the professional voice of an older woman, a voice that sounded vaguely accented, French perhaps.
“Speaking.”
“Marcus, this is Cherry Labouche fromParis Match. Were you aware that this year’sMichelin Guideis being published today?”
“I was aware it was this month. But I thought it wasn’t until next week.”
When the possible implications behind the call finally hit him, he took a deep breath and held on tight.
“Yes, well, our publication is able to call in a few favors where publishers are concerned. So I am sure you will be extremely pleased to hear that your Edgware Road Old Country restaurant has been nominated for a Michelin Rising Star Award, which means that you may very well qualify for one star in the near future. I wondered if you would be interested in providing an exclusive interview for our magazine? With photographs, of course, and the article to be published next month?”
Michelin star? After Marcus had pulled himself together, he accepted—of course—on the proviso that Cherry talk to his manager to arrange details, even though the next person he picked the phone up to call would be that very one.
